Human
by bloodonthepages
Summary: We may look human, but what are we really? Why can we feel? Why is our pain so intense? And if it is, then why do we hurt each other? An ocxoc fic, IsraelxPalestine


**Human**

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia is not mine. Israel and Palestine are, or at least until official characters are made.

For a further description of my characters, please visit my profile page.

**Summary:** We may look human, but what are we really? Why can we feel? Why is our pain so intense? And if it is, then why do we hurt each other? An ocxoc fic, IsraelxPalestine

xxxx

I remember when I first laid eyes on him.

It was a long time ago, back when my mother was still alive. Back before we were dragged off to captivity once more, and she was forced to work as a slave for Rome. Back before she was raped and abused so often that eventually her screams turned to gurgles as blood clogged her throat and she ceased to be. Still calling my name.

_Calev! Calev!_

I had closed my eyes in fear.

_Don't hurt him! Don't-_

I could give her nothing.

Back before then, when we still had land, the Philistine nation of the coast was always somewhat of a threat. He was not very large, but his weaponry was more advanced than ours. It appeared that even the god that ruled my people would scarcely intervene at times.

My mother had a son and he had a son. We were the same age. Questions arose, because we looked so alike, but I ignored it. My mother hated Philistine, and there was no love in so much hatred. Or so I thought.

Later, when I awoke after a long sleep and was sent to Russia, I would understand. I think, in a way, I loved him.

_The crack of the whip_

But God, how I hated him.

But that was then, and this was even further back. I had looked into his eyes.

They were a light brown, almost hazel. They were hardened, as he was next to his father and trying to look menacing. But I was not affected. I had seen worse, in the eyes of Assyria.

But there was also a flicker of cold calculation in those eyes, and from this I knew that one day he would become a threat. I could only sense it, of course, rather than _know_- I was only the equivalent of five years old at the time. But I knew. I knew we would hate each other one day, as our parents did. And across that thin line of hate, could we possibly…

_Love?_

Later, I would learn true hate. In the demented smile of Ivan, the cold sneer of Feliks as I was taken away. In the glittering, glee filled eyes Gilbert and the flat, lifeless ones of his brother.

_May their names be erased. But I have bigger enemies now, and my old ones have repented. Except for Gilbert, who got what he deserved._

And years later I was surrounded. I had land now, supposedly, as opposed to just people as I had in the past. But with that land came…

"_This is an outrage!"_ roared Iran, slamming his fist down on the table. And yet still, refusing to meet my eye. He hadn't cared until recently, and yet his threat was great.

"Why shouldn't my people have sufficient power through such means? This is only due to paranoia of _you,_" jabbing a finger at America, he seethed, "and…_him_."

(refusing to look at me)

None of them really see me.

Except him. He always stares at me, eye to eye. Letting me see his hatred and fear and why _why why _ are we fighting if we're all that we have left?

But neither of us ever say it out loud because we know. We know that even so, we would still tear each other apart.

So he hits me, and I hit back. And so it goes, harder and harder and harder, raining down blows and kicks and stones and bullets and bites and hands grabbing to tear off clothing because I hate you but _I need you_.

"Why," I whisper, one good time when we cling to each other afterward instead of parting abruptly like we usually do.

I examine the blood on my hands, and interlock my fingers with the blood on his. Like our parents, we need to hurt each other because

_Because otherwise you'd have to admit that you don't want to, you don't need to, the lives lost are pointless poison_

"Because there's no other way."

He hums a single note, unbothered by it.

"What are we, Salem?"

_Bullets and mortar shells and rockets and fire and bombs and pipes and stones and blood and burnt, torn flesh, because all we do is hate hate hate_

"Definitely not human," he laughs, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger.

Humans wouldn't do this.

Xxxxx

**Note: **Hope you enjoyed! Review if you please, it will help we decide whether to write more of these thingies. Requested pairings would also be helpful to me.


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